It Shall Guard the Kingdom of Man
by yellow-turtle-fic
Summary: The prisoner hung from the low ceiling, bound by sigil-covered chains. The vessel was no more than exposed stretches of gaping muscles and bones. From the clotted mass of blood that was its face, a blue eye opened, glassy and keen. It was the only thing that remained whole and untouched in the ruin. The other eye hid under a putrefied bruise. "Hello," said the former angel.
1. Chapter 1

"Cas! Thank God, I finally found you," he panted triumphantly as he stumbled into the small cell, covered in gore from head to toe.

The prisoner hung from the low ceiling, bound by sigil-covered chains. The impotent vessel was no more than exposed stretches of gaping muscles and sharp cracked bones, hardly recognizably human. From the clotted mass of blood that was its face, a blue eye opened, glassy and keen. It was the only thing that remained whole and untouched in the ruin. The other eye hid under a putrefied bruise.

"Hello," said the former angel. The voice was low. It did not betray any emotion, good or bad.

"Jesus, Cas…" He choked, fingers brushing lightly on a heavy metal link that smelled of rust and decay. "They really did a number on you, huh? Don't worry, I'm here. I'm finally here. We're gonna get you out this place, man." He accompanied his words with what he hoped was an encouraging grin.

The angel appraised him silently, then shook its head. "You're not Dean Winchester."

"What?" the demon asked, feigning hurt. "C'mon, it's really me. It's Dean. I fought my way in to get to you." He had spent quite some time working on his Righteous Man costume, hoping to toy with the victim's head for at least a few minutes. It was easily good enough to fool even the most observant soul, he was sure of it.

The angel, strangely, began to smile. Or at least tried to, as much as its mangled lips allowed. "They created thousands of Deans in heaven, and every one of them was a better imitation than your kind can duplicate. Your name was Ichiro Sasaki, and you were a fisherman from Hokkaido. You sold your soul to cure your wife's illness. You are now a low-level demon, and you've come to torture me."

Half-repressed memories from a former life stirred unbidden to the surface of the demon's mind. Shaken, he hurriedly tamped them back down. He finally understood why nobody wanted to be around the angel anymore. At first, the king himself had stayed in the small cell day and night in an attempt to work out his rage. After he eventually grew bored, the volunteers had flooded in, eager to take revenge on the divine fallen who had trapped them all downstairs forever. Most came back tight-lipped and uneasy, each adamant in their refusal to ever step back into the angel's presence. Lately, demons had to be drafted in as a form of punishment. Stripped from its grace, trapped in the deepest bowels of enemy territory, the seraph nevertheless seemed to retain a few vestiges of ineffable divinity. Yet, for all intents of purposes, the creature was one hundred percent human. It made the staff nervous.

The demon tightened the grip on his knife for reassurance while he shrugged off the disguise. The spirit inside might be holy, but the body itself was nothing more than an unremarkable vessel. It would peel and bleed under a blade just like any other, he hoped.

He sighed in mock defeat. "All right, you got me. I'm not really your little hunter boy. So how about we skip straight to the good old-fashioned flaying?" he taunted, attempting to imitate the tones of crueler, more experienced torturers.

"There isn't much skin left for you to flay," the angel replied, unfazed. The one good eye fixed him with polite interest.

He grazed the tip of the knife along the angel's flank. "Oh, I'm sure we'll figure something else, then." Anticipation and restraint were the best tools for inspiring fear in the damned souls. When done right, it was more effective than physical pain. At least so he'd been taught. But if he were to be completely honest with himself, he was uncertain on how to proceed with the torture. He'd never encountered a victim who didn't fight or weep or pray before this one. More importantly, he had never met anyone who single-handedly pulled Lucifer's vessel out of the cage, or who came back from the dead multiple times, or who briefly became God. The lingering angel magic was also extremely troubling.

Perhaps, he thought bitterly, he had bitten off more than he could chew when he'd accepted the job.

"You must be so afraid of me, you poor little thing," he said more brashly than he felt. "You're completely at my mercy. If I were you, I would start begging right now. I might be more lenient with…"

"No," the angel said flatly. "Now get on with it, please."

"…What… did you say to me?"

"I said get on with it."

Though the demon was used to his captives being rather more hysterical, he nonetheless recognized it as a challenge. A jeer. The angel was trying to act tough. Now that was _much_ more in line with his expectations. He may not have a lot of experience with heavenly mind tricks, but a damned soul giving him lip? It was routine. He could definitely handle that.

"Well, well. I like your enthusiasm, Castiel." He let the angelic name roll off his tongue like a slur. "But keep in mind, you and I've got all of eternity to have fun with each other. I don't want to rush our relationship. No, I'm going to treat you right."

Exquisitely slowly, the demon ran a finger down the angel's shattered ribs until he found a particularly deep wound in its gut. He tentatively pushed his knuckle inside the wet gash. The angel's eye briefly fluttered shut. Aside from a small shiver, there was no other reaction.

High pain tolerance, then. It was to be expected from a warrior of God. Maybe, when the angel's psyche had reached its limit, he would try out some of the acid tortures that were making such a comeback. But all in due time.

"How does it feel to land so low, angel?" he drawled in its ear. "You were just a rat with wings, and yet you tried to play God. Did things far above your paygrade for that little human of yours, isnt that right? You even ripped out your own grace because he needed it to lock our gates. And what did you receive in return? Now you're permanently trapped with us, and I think we both know this is where you truly belong. This is what you deserve." The tip of the knife had replaced the knuckle, carving away at the tender flesh ever so satisfyingly.

He wanted insults. Tears. Anger. He wanted a reaction that made sense. Instead, he heard the angel murmur, "Yuka Takahashi."

The demon froze.

The immaculate blue eye drilled into his murky secrets, stripping him naked with its stark limpidity. It was far too blue, he realized. It gleamed unnaturally bright in the darkened bowels of hell. The demon could swear he had not seen anything like it in all the years of his eternal torment, had not felt such confusion in his tainted soul since the endless freedom of the sky, the capricious embrace of the sea, the graceful creases of faded blue cotton on soft skin, the flowers hidden in thick black hair…

"You still remember, don't you?" the angel asked not unkindly. "Centuries of torment could not erase her completely. You tried everything within your power to save her, and yet her condition worsened. When you finally sought out the woman with the eyes of ink, you were more worried about sealing the deal with a kiss than about the fate of your immortal soul. You didn't wish to be unfaithful. When you arrived home, she sat up, touched your cheek, and said 'Ichiro, I feel better now. It is a miracle.' You only spent ten more years with your family afterwards. They were good ones."

The demon realized with horror that there was compassion in the depths of the gaze. The ancient angelic spirit had been made to suffer the very worst of hellish torture, yet it chose to feel sorry for _him_.

He roared in rage or shame, and madly plunged his blade into the soft liquid blue. He needed to blot it out. The angel wouldn't be able to see into him without the eye, wouldn't be able to use its treacherous powers. The angel's body arched and spasmed in agony under the blade, its jerky movements curbed by the swinging chains, but it didn't let a sound escape its throat.

"Nothing can save you," the demon growled. He twisted the knife cruelly before ripping it out of the eye. The wound made a sickening noise. The vile emptiness he left behind filled him with savage pleasure. "You will never escape. You're going to suffer and break just like the rest of us, and someday soon you'll become nothing more than the newest demon in our ranks."

The angel _chuckled_. Its lacerated eye socket, now unremarkable amid the carnage that was its face, gushed darkly with viscous blood. But it wasn't the maniacal sound of a man turning insane. In hell, such laughter was par for the course. Instead it was a faint, amused little laugh, head bowed as if remembering a private joke. The demon shrunk away, slightly confused.

The captive raised its hollow red gaze to meet the demon's.

"Dean is coming for me." The angel Castiel proclaimed. His voice rang with absolute certainty, clear and resonant like a bell in the endless shadows. "He will raise me from hell. Nothing in God's creation has stopped him before, and nothing in your pitiful little realm can stand against his will. If you ever have the misfortune of laying your eyes on him, I advise you to flee for your life. Because he's going to kick your _fucking_ _ass_."

The demon had not, in his many years inside the pit, witnessed unshakable faith. Faith couldn't survive. Hell corrupted love, and hope, and everything that was good inside a soul, and faith generally died within the first month or so. And this, this stubborn, inhuman thing wasn't clinging onto its Father for rescue. That may have been understandable. Angels were hardwired to do that. No, this one was putting its celestial trust into a human. Dean Winchester. The man who inspired unbelievable rumors and tales, hushed whispers telling of his exploits during the apocalypse, of how he pushed Lucifer and Michael into the cage, of his victories against the leviathans and the Mother of monsters, of his year-long rampage through purgatory, of the way he had slaughtered and maimed every sentient thing unfortunate enough to cross his path as he'd bellowed, "_Where is he? Where's the goddamn angel?_"

Dean Winchester, who was every abomination's nightmare. Dean Winchester, who was always accompanied by his brother the giant demon-slayer. Dean Winchester, who was the rightful sword of Michael, who fought against heaven, hell, and God, and emerged impossibly victorious against a destiny written before the dawn of mankind. Dean Winchester, who owed his life to the very same bundle of raw meat and crushed bones that faithfully waited for him inside the underworld's loneliest cell.

The angel's eye kept on leaking, an awful broken sphere that bore into the demon's open soul. He thought he could feel the ghost of the divine blue he had destroyed. He swore he could still see its shine. It pierced him. Judged him. Pitied him.

No, it was impossible. The gates were closed. They were all doomed until the end of time, and no one could come back in.

But for a second or two, the demon believed.

And he was frightened.

.


	2. Chapter 2

_Draw the blood of a divine fallen to mark the portal between the realms._

_Sacrifice its flesh and spirit to the fiery torment of the underworld._

_Preserve its grace to watch over the dominion of man._

_Only then will thy trials be done._

"Hi there. Nice to meet you," Dean drawled in his sleaziest voice. Sam really wished his brother would sound more respectful when he talked to supernatural creatures.

Or, you know, to people in general.

The short rogue reaper didn't look surprised. She looked terribly annoyed instead. "You're the Winchesters," she said belligerently, as if it explained everything that was wrong with the world. It wasn't a question. Apparently she knew who they were just from the look of them.

Perhaps she'd heard about Ajay's untimely demise.

"We certainly are, ma'am. I'm Dean, and this is my brother Sam," Dean replied suavely. "I guess you've heard of us, huh? Listen, we know it's a bit rude to approach you like this, but we need to have a chat with the big kahuna, the Horseman."

The reaper stared at him incredulously. "You… want to _chat_ with Death? Are you insane? He gives orders to us, not the other way around. And even if…" Her protestations died when her boss materialized a few feet away.

This time she did look surprised.

_Sam sat down, forehead scrunched up in concentration, and coughed absently into a tissue. As far as guidelines went, this was a lot less straight-forward than simply stabbing scary stuff with pointy things. "I don't know, Dean. It's pretty specific. You need something called a divine fallen, not just any random heavenly creature."_

_"Dammit, an angel is an angel!" Dean's protests had steadily increased in volume and desperation in the last few hours. "Who cares if we fudge some of the details? I say we summon a cupid and send its ass downstairs. Nobody's gonna miss 'em."_

_Sam shook his head irritably. He understood why Dean was fighting so hard. He really did. But he was in dire need of sleep, his whole body was aching, he had a fever high enough to fry an egg on his face, and his brother's suggestions weren't getting any less stupid. The guy wasn't usually an enormous idiot, but he seemed determined to sound like one at the moment. "Let me get this straight. You want an innocent cupid to get tortured forever even though it wouldn't _work_? This is the freaking gates of hell we're talking about, not a rugaru or a shojo. I'm pretty sure we need to actually follow the directions."_

_Dean huffed dismissively. "Oh, so we're back to sending Cas into hell, then? No. No way. There's gotta be something else." Dean paced around the floor in an exaggeratedly aggressive manner. The cavernous space of the bunker seemed almost too small to contain him._

_With a discreet flutter of wings, Castiel reappeared in the silently pressed a mason jar into Sam's free hand._

_Curious, Sam brought its contents up to his eye level. The thin layer of clear liquid wasn't particularly special in appearance._

_"What's in this?"_

_"Holy water. Blessed by a pope," Castiel replied quietly. "I think a simple bishop's blessing may have sufficed. However, unlike some, I'd prefer if we erred on the side of caution."_

_"What's it for, Cas?" Dean cut in sharply. His angry stomping served as a direct contrast to Castiel, who had never seemed more calm and alien. His face, as if carved in stone, was completely blank and smooth. There was concealed steel in the way he held himself, the imperceptible thrumming of angelic power that was easily forgotten when he smiled at a television, or misused colloquialisms, or fumbled confusedly with Dean's toiletries._

_No, this was Castiel back in full soldier of heaven mode. Sam didn't like it. It reminded him too much of the dickhead from not so long ago who didn't mind blasting entire towns off the map if his superiors commanded it._

_"The water in this container will serve as a stabilizing recipient for my grace," Castiel explained serenely. "After I go to hell…"_

_"WHAT?" Dean barked._

_"…I trust you both to keep it safe. I will no longer have use for it, but an angel's grace can be a dangerous weapon. You shouldn't let it fall into the wrong hands."_

The reaper panicked.

"Sir, I have no idea how they found me, I don't have anything to do with them, I swear!"

"It's all right, Nora," Death told her patiently. "I'll handle this." He fixed his piercing, sunken on eyes on Dean. "Apparently you are as foolish as you are insignificant."

Sam wondered for the

umpteenth time if asking Death for a favor was a good idea. It probably wasn't. What if Death was unhappy about the closure of hell? Did he even have an opinion? Maybe he didn't care about the actions of two petty little humans, as long as those humans didn't try to bother him directly.

And yet that was exactly what they were doing right now. Bothering him. Sometimes Sam couldn't believe they were still alive, considering the general stupidity of their plans.

"We um," Sam stammered, "we're not trying to bind you again, sir. We swear. We just wanted to talk, if that's ok. We brought you some onion rings!" Sam gestured with the box as if fried onions could somehow sway Death's opinion.

"Castiel," Dean interrupted brusquely. "D'you remember him?" Sam cringed at the rudeness. Was his brother suicidal?

Death's expression bordered on disgust. "Yes, he's the mindless little soldier who wanted to play God. What of him?"

"Can you pull him out of hell?"

_Dean gripped Castiel's shoulder and pointlessly attempted to make him turn around. The angel stayed rooted to the spot like a fire hydrant. "Don't stay stuff like that! Why do you have to be the freakin' martyr all the time?" he addressed to Castiel's down-turned profile. "Three of us have already gone to hell, there's no need to go for four."_

_Sam's mind flickered through all the times they'd both forcefully wedged themselves into the roles of martyrs, and briefly considered pointing out his brother's hypocrisy. He sighed. Maybe some other time, when one of the only friends they had left wasn't trying to painfully off himself, they could have a nice 'girly' talk about emotions and self-esteem issues. Instead he turned to Castiel._

_"Cas. You'll be trapped inside for eternity. You won't ever be able to come back. Are you absolutely sure about this?" he asked cautiously, deliberately ignoring the furious gaze his brother threw at him. The small jar in his hand now felt heavy with terrible purpose._

_"Yes. I'm sure."_

_Sam felt tense and uncertain, and Dean was obviously really really pissed off. Castiel, however, seemed to face the prospect of his eternal torment with all the emotional anguish of the average brick._

_"We should immediately proceed with marking the gate," Castiel said, voice dull and toneless. He ambled his way to a cabinet and nudged it aside as if it weighed nothing, revealing the blank wall behind. Dean glowered while Castiel promptly began tracing wet lines and symbols on his new-found canvas. A bowl filled with fresh blood had materialized in his hands._

_"Dammit," Dean shouted, "there's gotta be another way, Cas! Will you listen to me for once?" Castiel turned a deaf ear to Dean's cries. Actually, Sam was pretty sure he'd completely stopped making eye contact with Dean ever since he'd been told the specifics of the third trial. Perhaps he struggled a lot more with his decision than he let on._

_"C'mon, Dean, leave him alone," Sam muttered._

_Dean whipped his glare on Sam with such disappointment and betrayal, it was as if he'd caught his little bitch of a brother guzzling demon blood all over again. "Really, Sam? Really?" Dean snatched away the notebook and the jar and set them on the table with a clang. Little droplets of holiness splashed against the metal lid._

_"Hey, be careful with that…"_

_"I thought we were done sacrificing each other. I thought there was supposed to be a light at the end of the tunnel. But that stupid bastard wants to go kamikaze into Mordor, and you're gonna sit there and encourage him? Great! That's just awesome."_

_Sam didn't like arguing about Castiel when Castiel was standing a few feet away, but the angel appeared not to be paying attention. Sam wanted to say that he understood, or at least thought he did. When he'd broken the final seal and started the apocalypse, that had been on him. Desperately clinging to hope, he had needed to believe there was a way for him to make it right, because every single person who died would be his responsibility. And he'd felt almost grateful as he fell into the cage, because his debt was paid. If Dean was willing to sell his soul, if he was willing to become Michael's vessel, if he wanted to stay a hunter for the rest of his life, then there was no doubt that he understood a thing or two about self-sacrifice as well._

_"Dean… Look, I don't like it either, but we have to respect his decisions. He's got his own freedom of choice, all right? And come on, where else are we gonna find a divine fallen who'd agree to this anyway?"_

_"ARE YOU KIDDING ME? YOU WANT CAS TO BE DAMNED?"_

_"I threw myself into the cage to save the world from Lucifer! I can see where he's coming from. So stop getting angry at me, when you're clearly just…"_

_Sam was interrupted by a rough bout of coughing. His hand came away with a large blot of blood._

Death's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. If Sam was to take a guess, he would say that he looked almost amused. "Hell is sealed shut. You two closed it down, and the angel willingly sacrificed himself for your cause. He is trapped by his own volition. I see no reason to intervene."

"Yeah, but can you do it? Is it possible to save him? I mean, his grace is on earth, so it's not like he needs you to build him a wall or anything, right?"

"Even if I could drag him back to this realm, intact in body and mind, why would I? That arrogant little thing infested your world with leviathans and nearly razed heaven to the ground. I'm quite pleased with his present punishment."

Dean had nursed a pretty irrational hope that Cas might have avoided torture somehow. Sam could tell by the tight line of his lips that he was less than pleased to see his fears confirmed by a knowledgeable source.

"Is there anything we can do?" asked Sam. His tone was a lot more reasonable -and a bit less desperate - than his brother's. "Are there any things we could give you to change your mind? Honestly, out of all the powerful beings we've met, you were always the only reasonable one."

Elegantly, Death swooped down on a bench that did not exist two seconds ago, and helped himself to a mouthful of onion rings. "Castiel is an angel," he said between bites. "You two don't even comprehend what angels are. You couldn't begin to wrap your head around the very concept. You are as minuscule, weak, and transient to him as he seems to me."

"So… what, are angels harder to pull out than humans?" Dean said confusedly.

"Your loyalty is very touching, Dean. But Castiel cannot return your feelings. Not truly. No angel is capable of it. I suggest you bury that particular pipe dream and leave him where he belongs."

"Huh? I'm… Sorry? What? _What_?" Dean stammered. Sam face-palmed.

The reaper, who had followed the conversation with a carefully neutral expression up until that moment, stifled a sound that could only be described as a very rude snort. Death darted a meaningful look at her, and she obediently disappeared.

Of course, out of all the sentient things in this world, the one who finally confronted Dean about his crush would end up being _Death_. Sam couldn't bring himself to ponder about where their lives had gone so wrong. Then again, it probably wasn't even in the top ten weirdest things that had happened to them.

_Dean uncomfortably averted his gaze as Sam wiped off the blood from his hands and mouth. He tiredly passed his hands over his face, anger momentarily forgotten. "Dragging Lucifer back into the pit wasn't the same at all. We had to prevent the apocalypse, man," he said hesitantly. His voice was quiet and rough, as if every word he forced out was painful. He threw a furtive glance at the angel, who showed no sign of acknowledgement. "We had no other choice back then, otherwise I never would've let you jump. But right now the world isn't doing that bad. Letting you start the trials was probably a massively bad idea in the first place. We were asking for trouble. And on top of everything, there's… Cas… It's… I can't. It's not worth it. I think we should look for a way to cancel everything. I… would rather let hell stay open forever, Sammy. I don't care if demons walk the earth for the rest of eternity, the price is too steep."_

_"Oh dear God," Sam groaned._

The price is too steep_? He could hardly believe that such chick-flick cheesiness was coming out of Dean's mouth at a time like this. Oh no, don't take my boyfriend, he's more important to me than the whole world. His brother's weird, blasphemous relationship with the angel had stopped being cute ages ago, and was borderline irritating now._

_How disgustingly sappy was the stuff that wasn't being said out loud, he wondered. Unbidden, he clearly saw a picture of Dean in a cowboy hat, proclaiming "I'm just a boy, standing in front of an angel, asking him not to jump into the fiery pits of hell," to a plaid-wearing Castiel. While My Heart Will Go On swelled in the background. Both of them drenched in the rain. A crowd of happy onlookers clapped and cheered as they passionately kissed. Sam even saw himself standing under an umbrella, screaming, "JESUS CHRIST, FUCKING FINALLY!" into a megaphone._

_Sam tried hard not to snicker, and failed pretty miserably._

_"Huh? Why are you laughing?"_

_Sam shook his head, his feverish giggles slowly dying down. Sometimes his big brother was pretty thick._

_"Nevermind." He rubbed his palms on his eyelids. "Jesus, I really need some sleep. Wow."_

_He turned towards the wall. "Hey, um… Cas? I don't think Dean will budge. Is there anyone else out there who fits the bill?" he asked, resigned. Apparently his brother wanted to keep staring at Cas wistfully at least until the next world-shaking disaster. And apparently Sam was going to help him do it._

_"There aren't many other choices," Castiel replied evenly, without turning around. "Your safest option, aside from me, would be a creature like Anna, who doesn't have to share the a body with another consciousness. There is a toddler like her in Guatemala. Another in Tunisia. They wisely chose to escape the butchery of civil war. There may be others that I don't know of, but I doubt it. I can also list the fallen angels from previous centuries, if you wish."_

_"That's good," Dean said hurriedly, voice brittle and bright. "So all we have to do is zap ourselves to Guatemala…"_

_"Dude! We are not throwing babies into hell!"_

_Dean's entire being radiated stubbornness. "It isn't any worse than sacrificing Cas. No, no, wait, Jimmy Novak will have to follow Cas in there, so that'd be like killing two people. If I vote for the Guatemalan kid instead, I'm actually picking the lesser of two evils."_

_Dean looked terribly proud of his reasoning._

_Sam frowned. "Dude, I'm pretty sure that Jimmy's been shuffled off to heaven a long time ago."_

_Castiel nodded absently, his concentration still focused on the red sigils blooming on the wall. "This body is mine, now. God did not find it necessary to make Jimmy endure my reincarnations. I suppose we should be grateful for His small mercies."_

_There were many ways to describe God, but 'merciful' was not one of them. Dean seemed ready to burst out with a long tirade about God's dickishness, so Sam tried to veer the conversation back on track. "There's no reason to kill a fallen anything if we don't want to. We could ask Kevin to find a way to cancel the trials. I don't think he'll be too happy, but…"_

_"No, Sam," the angel replied firmly. "The only way to restore your body to health is to complete the trials. Otherwise you will die slowly and in excruciating agony."_

_The heavy silence that followed was only broken by the angel's deft hands. Graceful symbols and runes garnished the wall. It was astonishing how beautiful and intricate the hell-gate looked, as opposed to the rudimentary gate of purgatory, or most of the hurriedly scribbled wards and traps that the brothers usually scrambled together in haste._

_Castiel's work seemed almost done. Sam wondered what he would do when he no longer had an excuse to avoid Dean's eyes._

"Look, sir," said Sam, determined to carry through while his brother stared at the ground and blushed. "Castiel deserves to be saved more than I did. If you were willing to pull my soul out of hell, even after all the damage I suffered, then it should be a piece of cake for you to bring back the angel's body. We've helped you clean up a lot of messes, and you've helped us out of a lot of tight spots, so by now we kind of know each other a little, right? Saving an innocent guy from damnation might not mean a lot to you, but it would mean the world to my brother. We'd be indebted to you forever. We'd help you with anything you ask."

Death's chewing stopped momentarily. He seemed to be considering the offer, silently weighing the pros and cons. Against his better judgement, Sam felt hope swell in his chest. If he was considering it for even an instant, that meant there was a chance.

"No. The gates will stay closed," Death stated with finality. "I will not open them again, especially not for that strange, broken little thing. However, you two tend to make an unholy amount of trouble when you don't get what you want. I suppose I should nudge you in the right direction. Call it damage control."

_Dean crossed his arms. "Well you know what?" he said with fake bravado. "I'm not convinced that the nerd angel here qualifies anyway. Maybe he would've fit the guidelines a few years ago, but he hasn't been looking too fallen to me lately. He won't work any better than the other random-ass angels out there." He seemed desperate and cornered and young, and Sam suddenly felt terribly sorry for him even though the things that came out of his mouth were dumb._

_Though the angel's shoulders briefly tensed, his finger-painting did not falter. "Don't be stupid, Dean," he said darkly. "I disobeyed direct orders from my superiors. I openly rebelled against heaven. I helped you avert the apocalypse. I led a civil war against my brothers, cavorted with demons, and became a monstrous God before unleashing leviathans into this world. I fell years ago, have since sunken deeper and deeper in every way imaginable, and there can never be any absolution for what I've done."_

_"Yeah," Sam agreed, voice dripping with sarcasm, "I'm pretty sure you aren't an expert on angelic fallen-ness, Dean." It came out sounding a bit harsher than he meant._

_But neither Dean nor Cas seemed to hear Sam's witty attempt at levity._

_"Please, Cas. Look at me," Dean begged, soft and dead serious. Castiel's fingers twitched. Reluctantly, he turned away from the bloody gate._

_They stared at each other without a word._

_Castiel's expression crumbled. His soldier of heaven stance collapsed under the weight of Dean's eyes, as it inevitably did. The intimacy of the moment made Sam feel supremely uncomfortable, and he dimly pondered whether he should leave the room._

_"Dean…" Cas pleaded. The word was loaded with such desperate meaning that it made Sam turn away, embarrassed. He ambled up to a secluded bookshelf and stared at the titles as if they were the most interesting thing in the world, while still carefully remaining within earshot._

_Dean pointed at Castiel almost accusingly. "No, you listen to me, you… you dumb son-of-a-bitch. You were the only one of your brothers who truly gave a rat's ass about us. You were the only angel brave enough to break ranks when you knew your orders were bull. Everything you've ever done, every stupid mistake you ever made, you did it because you thought it was right at the time. Because you wanted to fix things. And if you ended up making them even worse, that doesn't make you evil, that just makes you… well, not human, but you know what I mean."_

_"Dean, stop…"_

_"When the other feathery asswipes sat around twiddling their thumbs, and feeling superior to us hairless monkeys, and playing us like puppets on strings, you came here into the dirt and the grime and the misery, and you gave us a shot at saving the world. So yeah, all right, maybe I'm a crap judge at those things. There's no reason why my opinion should even matter, but - for Christ's sake Cas, _look at me _- You gotta believe me, man. I know you better than anybody, and you know what? I think you're the only one out of all them who never fell. I mean it. None of those dicks were half the angel you are, none of them could've done the things you did, not Uriel, or Naomi, or Zachariah, or the Archangels. If you did technically fall, it was because you were too awesome for heaven, not the other way around."_

_Sam hid his smile against the dusty spines of the books. He wanted to give his brother a medal. He dared a peek at the angel._

_Castiel looked speechless and incredibly vulnerable, the blood dried and forgotten on his hands. It seemed almost impossible that the ancient creature who stood before them was anything other than a human being. His grief was too raw and deep and naked. Angels and demons didn't care like that._

_But then, Castiel's head suddenly snapped up like a hound catching a scent._

_"There are demons outside," he hissed._

Dean looked like he wanted to _hug_ Death. "Oh, thank you. Thank you so much. That's incredible of you to help Cas, even if it's just a little."

"Yes, I know," Death replied condescendingly. "Do not make a habit of crawling to me for help. I never want to see you two again."

He nonchalantly beckoned to Dean, who approached the bench eagerly. He took Dean's hand in his skeletal ones, inspected it carefully, and slid Mary's wedding ring off his finger. "This will do. Now hand me Castiel's grace."

Dean and Sam shared a cautious look. "Um… I hope you don't mind if I ask, but… what do you need it for?" Dean muttered in a way he probably meant to be polite, but instead came out sounding suspicious. Sam had his doubts as well. Death had little reason to steal from them, since he was more than powerful enough to obtain an angel's grace any day of the week. Perhaps Death had some ulterior motive for screwing them over?

"Castiel's grace will remain unharmed by the process. I only need it to help you find God," Death replied coolly.

_Sam's brain automatically flipped the switch to danger containment. "How many demons are there? How did they find us?"_

_"Oh Jesus," Dean groaned in realization. "It wasn't the Greek pantheon who kidnapped Haley. It was…"_

_"Crowley," Castiel finished. He quickly added a few last flourishes onto the wall, hurried and crude compared to the rest. The very next second, he materialized on the other side of the room, thrusting the little jar of water back into Sam's chest. The thickened blood on his fingers smeared red and ugly into the transparent glass. "Take this. We won't have much time. If the demons do manage to breach through…"_

_The deafening explosion made the world shake. Sam instinctively dropped to the floor, shielding his face from fallen debris. Everywhere, books and picture frames clattered to the floor._

_"They're blowing up our batcave!" Dean roared, absolutely beside himself with outrage. The bunker was protected by powerful magic, but the wards couldn't repel human explosives._

_"Dean," Castiel snapped authoritatively, while tugging Sam upwards by the elbow. "Try to hold them off as long as you can. We need to do the ritual now, do you understand?"_

_"Don't be stupid, Cas, just mojo us out of here!" Dean argued stubbornly._

_"DO AS I SAY, DEAN," Castiel commanded, and there was the might of heaven infused in his voice. Sam flinched at the unbridled power. The sad Cas, the vulnerable Cas was entirely gone, and in its place was Castiel the hammer of God, leading his glorious garrison to war on an eternal battlefield, ready to strike down inferior beings with the righteous wrath of the Lord on High. For a split second, Sam was more frightened of his friend than of the incoming demons._

_But Dean stared the might of heaven right in the face, and said, "No."_

_Sam rolled his eyes._

_A second explosion shook the bunker. This time Sam heard somebody with a British accent yelling, "I want them dead or alive, do you hear?"_

_"I'm sorry, Dean," said Castiel desperately, "but you can either stop them or let our deaths be in vain. It's up to you."_

_Before Sam could register what happened, the angel's silver sword had sunken deep inside its owner's chest._

Find God? After the apocalypse, the civil war in heaven, and the leviathans escaping from purgatory, Sam hadn't dreamed that this was even on the table.

"Are you for real?" Dean said numbly. The confusion on his face mirrored Sam's own.

"Hand me the grace before I change my mind," Death sighed.

Dean, dumb-struck, hesitantly reached under his shirt and pulled out the skinny crystal vial that hung around his neck. It was filled to the brim with soft blue light.

He cradled the grace in his fingers the same way Sam has seen him do countless times, and stared at it as if it was the most precious object in the entire world. In a way, it was.

_"Cas!" Sam and Dean shouted at the same time as Castiel collapsed, clutching the handle of the sword._

_His vice-like grip hung onto Sam's wrist too tightly. "The water. Open it," he panted._

_Sam vaguely registered Dean lunging towards them, and Cas telepathically stopping his advance with a weak wave of his hand. He heard rather than saw his brother sprawl backwards. Clumsily, he untwisted the lid of the jar, his fingers shaking slightly from the adrenaline._

_"Go stop the demons, Dean!" Sam grit out._

_"Dean. Please," Castiel wheezed. Sam wasn't certain what exactly he was asking, or even if his plea had been loud enough to hear, but Dean obeyed after a moment of hesitation. He charged towards the entrance, weapon at the ready._

_Castiel closed his eyes and recited Enochian words under his breath, too fast and garbled for Sam to understand. Far away, he heard the first wave of demons dying under Ruby's knife. He felt utterly helpless, on his knees next to his dying friend, watching in horror as the thin light escaped from underneath the blade._

_"Sam," Castiel whispered. "Repeat after me."_

_"Ok, yeah. Ok," Sam replied tensely._

_"Goh-hoh toh-rah-zod-oo-el."_

_"Goh-hoh… toh-rah-zod-oo-el," he repeated carefully, his tongue tripping a little on the unfamiliar syllables._

_"Beh-rah-nah-sah-geh."_

_"Beh-rah-nah-sah-geh." He hoped Dean was doing all right. He had no idea how many demons were out there._

_"Ee-ah-deh loh-en-doh-ho."_

_"Ee-ah-deh loh-en-doh-ho." He wished he'd brushed up on his enochian. He didn't even know what the hell he was saying._

_"Bah-el-tah oh-zod-oh-en-goh-en."_

_"Bah-el-tah oh-zod-oh-en-goh-en." Sam's eyes widened as the light under the sword suddenly engulfed every available inch of the vessel's skin._

_Castiel sighed, something like relief blossoming on his face. "Shut your eyes," he breathed softly. And he pulled the sword out._

"Wiccan spells," Death commented as he inspected the vial. "How charming."

"Yeah, we figured normal materials weren't gonna cut it," Dean explained nervously.

Death held up the silver ring in the palm of his bony hand. He took the vial from Dean, and engulfed the gentle glow of the grace inside his fist.

"Listen to me very carefully, you two," he ordered. His ancient eyes slid from Dean's face to Sam. "No matter what you get your noses into, Castiel's grace _must _remain within the realm of men. Do you understand? It serves as a barrier between hell and earth, and you cannot stroll into a different dimension with it upon your person. Otherwise the ward will fade, his sacrifice will be in vain, and the gates will release the legions of hell once more."

Sam nodded. "We understand."

"Good."

The unbreakable crystal shattered effortlessly underneath Death's slim fingers, and the trickle of Castiel's grace fell onto the silver ring like tears, dripping in small rivulets and pooling into the open palm. The metal band hungrily drank the glow until there was no more liquid left.

The ring looked no different. Death's hands were completely dry, and the shards from the vial had disappeared.

"Your ring will shine in the presence of God," Death said quietly. "Perhaps He will be more inclined to help you. Bringing life was always His specialty, rather than mine."

_Sam shut his eyes just in time, as blinding light rushed out of Castiel's body. He could swear he felt it penetrate every inch of himself, filling and purifying. He heard the distant sound of demons screaming in anguish, and Dean letting out a frightened, "What the hell?"_

_It was over quickly. Sam gingerly opened his eyes. Everything looked darker than before, but the water inside the jar gently glowed blue. Millions of years of smiting, healing, disappearing, reappearing, watching humanity, fighting, traveling through time, serving God, and saving the world, and Sam was holding all of it inside a recipient that used to contain marmalade._

_"It… worked," said Castiel. He slumped forward, and Sam caught him clumsily. He was surprised the angel was still breathing. "The spell… You need…"_

_"Cas!" Dean sprinted back to the angel's feet, dropping the knife to the floor with a bloody clatter. He had a gash on his forehead, but otherwise looked unharmed. "Cas, oh God,"_

_"Sam… The spell," Castiel repeated._

_"Right, yes. I'll go get it," Sam mumbled as he hurriedly stood up. He had the spell right in his pocket, not to mention perfectly memorized, but Dean probably deserved to say goodbye._

_Castiel's head nestled onto Dean's shoulder, his hands trembling in the folds of his shirt. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he whispered weakly._

_"You moron," Dean growled back. He held the angel too tightly, as if he could keep him from slipping away between his arms, fingers digging desperately into the short curls of hair at the nape of Castiel's neck. "Cas, you freaking child. Why did you do it? Why? We could've saved you. We were gonna find another way…"_

_"Penance… I had to… All the pain… that… that I caused… I'm… sorry…"_

_Sam brushed pieces of debris off the pages of the notebook and pretended to flip through in search of the spell._

_"Cas, listen to me," Dean said firmly, voice ringing with absolute conviction. "I'm going to get you out, you hear? I won't let you rot in that stinking hole. We always fight and we always come through the other side, and this time is no different.. Promise me you won't give up. Promise you'll wait for me. Cas? Please, promise me."_

_"You can't," Castiel chocked out, his voice dim and muffled. "The gates… They'll be closed. Impossible…" Castiel's words were too wheezy and thin, nothing like the deep gruffness that had become familiar to them. Sam didn't think he would stay conscious for much longer._

_"Don't say that," Dean pleaded. He pressed the dying angel even tighter against him. "Don't you say that to me. I'll get you out. Remember when we met? The first time we met, Cas, you were so bright, so perfect, you were the first beautiful thing I'd seen in forty years. I was so twisted up by then that I could barely look at you, I couldn't stand the presence of anything good and pure. And Jesus, did it burn when you raised me up. I burned so badly. But then I was alive again, and it was a goddamn miracle. And you tried to pull Sam out of Lucifer's cage, even though you knew you shouldn't, even though you weren't strong enough. You did it anyway, you stubborn bastard. You never stopped trying to save us, so I'm gonna save you too. It's only fair."_

_"Don't… Dean…"_

_Dean shook his head, his face glistening wet. "There's nothing you can say. I'll get you out of hell and that's final, so just sit tight and wait for me. No matter what they do to you on the rack, no matter how many years you're stuck in there, just remember that I'm coming for you. Got that? You spit in those demons' faces and tell them that Dean Winchester is smashing his way back into hell to get his angel. Promise me you'll remember."_

_"Dean… Thank you…"_

_Dean squeezed out a teary chuckle. "Hey, you can thank me when I bring you home. And afterwards, maybe you won't have to go away again. Huh, Cas? How does that sound? You wanna stay with me, buddy?"_

_"Yes… I want… thank you… Everything… for everything. Dean."_

_The bloody hands knotted in the folds of the shirt slowly let go, and Castiel's weight sagged silently against Dean's._

_"…Cas?" Dean whispered._

_There was no reply._

Dean gingerly took the ring from Death, wonderment written all over his face.

"My mom's ring… it knows where God is right now," Dean whispered.

Death rolled his eyes. "I'm glad you paid attention."

"But wait, what if God isn't on earth?" Sam butted in. One universe out of four was nothing to sneer at, but they might need bigger coverage than that to freaking find _God_.

"Think about it," Death drawled patiently. "God left heaven to the archangels. Hell is defined by the absence of God. And purgatory was created and abandoned long before the existence of mankind. Where else could He be?"

"Wow. But… still, how will I know which way to go, or where to start looking?"

"You'll know, Dean. Trust me."

_Dean let out a huge, shuddering sigh. He burrowed his face into the dark hair, his breathing erratic. He murmured silent things to the limp body that Sam couldn't and didn't want to hear._

_Sam swallowed the lump in his throat. At least one of them needed to stay strong for now, and his big brother was in no shape to do it._

_"I'm so sorry, Dean. I wish there'd been another way," Sam murmured gently. His voice echoed emptily in his head, useless and inadequate. He didn't know what else to say. He didn't have the words. There hadn't been any words when Bobby died, or when Jo and Ellen blew up, or when dad was taken, or when Jess burned on the ceiling. There wouldn't be any now._

_"Sammy…" said Dean, and the name sounded too much like a sob. "Say the damn spell."_

_Sam nodded. He had found it in the notebook long ago, and had stood by without knowing what to do. Maybe he'd been waiting for permission. "Kah-nah ohm dar," he recited._

_His eyes immediately blurred. The gate on the wall began pulsing with a threatening glow. Sam felt the blood in his own veins shining and vibrating. Yet, it was completely different from the other times he had completed a trial. He wasn't writhing on the ground in pain. He didn't feel like he was on fire. He didn't feel anything in particular at all._

_Except his blood was _singing_._

_The bunker started to rumble again, but it wasn't the shallow quake of dynamite. It was something older, deeper, infinitely more dangerous, and it was oozing its way out of the ground in waves of dread. A river of dark smoke crashed its way into the room, swallowing everything in its wake. Sam felt it cascade towards the gate, like a waterfall tumbling towards a giant drain. Sam was almost completely blinded by the thick sulfuric flood. Claws made of darkness tugged at every inch of him. The demons inside the cloud of misshaped evil shrieked with fear, trying to possess him, to hold onto him, to escape the power of the divine fallen's sacrifice. Though Sam could hardly see his own body anymore, he still felt the unnatural glow inside his flesh. He knew none of them would get a grip on him. The only thing he saw clearly in the swirling darkness was the warm blue light inside the mason jar, shining halcyon and pure inside his hand. He held it up like a beacon, and the smoke parted ever so slightly, as if frightened by it. He carefully made his way to his brother, slow but not quite blind, and eventually found him by nudging him with his foot. Dean had stayed in the exact same position as before. The angel's body was gone. Sam sank down, and tried as best as he could to shield his brother with his own back. He closed his eyes._

Dean stared at Death quizzically as he carefully put the back ring on. "Woah," he whispered.

"Indeed."

"How… how is this possible? How do I know where to go? Even the archangels couldn't find God. Cas spent months looking for him, and now I… Jesus."

"I'm more powerful than all of the angels in heaven combined. I have my ways."

Dean, fiddled with the ring around his finger, his face filled with unmitigated awe. Then he smiled. "Thank you, sir. For everything."

Sam thought he saw something like pity fleet in Death's old eyes, and not for the first time he wondered if he was really as indifferent as he pretended to be.

"I hope He helps you. Now go save Castiel, and stop pestering me."

_Sam couldn't have guessed exactly how long he waited before opening his eyes again. By then, Dean had stiffly gotten back to his feet. There wasn't any evidence of the entire demon population on earth rushing through the bunker, other than the lingering smell of sulfur. He imagined the smell would stay for weeks._

_"Christ, Sam. What happened to your face?" asked Dean. His voice sounded far away. Sam's ears were still clouded._

_Sam touched his cheek. His hand came away with a slightly alarming amount of blood. "Hmm? That's… weird. I feel fine." And for once, it wasn't a lie. He felt reinvigorated. He hadn't felt this normal ever since he'd killed the hellhound._

_"Dude, there's blood coming out of every hole in your freakin' head."_

_"No, seriously, I'm fine. I feel really good." Sam cursorily wiped his face with his shirtsleeve. "What about you, though? Are you gonna be ok?"_

_For a moment, Dean stared quietly at the darkened gate. "Look, Sammy… I can't make you storm back into hell right after we've ganked every single demon in the world. It wouldn't be fair. I know you want a real job and a nice girl, and you should go get it. But just so we're clear, I _will_get Cas out of there with or without help, even if it's the last thing I do. This is my fight, and I won't ask you to follow me, but don't think for a second that you can stop me." He wasn't angry, sad, or scared. He just sounded very very determined, like he'd found a new cause in life and was willing to pursue it until the end. Maybe he'd finally gotten a good look at the light at the end of the tunnel, and all along it had been a warm twinkle of grace and the trenchcoated angel who came with it._

_Sam couldn't remember the last time Dean had wished for anything beyond saving people and keeping Sam safe. He wasn't sure if Dean had ever in his life set his mind on doing something because he needed it for himself, rather than to please everyone else._

_"So are we good, Sam?"_

_Sam nodded slowly. He needed more time to process this. "Look, you're right, I do want a normal life. But Cas was my friend too, and I don't like the idea of leaving you alone with something that big. So let's just… let's take this one step at a time. We can talk about what to do with our lives tomorrow. And for now, um… Well for starters, you should probably have this." Sam held out the blood-streaked jar. Dean handled it carefully, as if it were as fragile as a baby bird._

_"So there's a bit of Cas in here," Dean pondered wistfully, rubbing away at a streak of red with the pad of his thumb. "Wow. That's kinda freaky."_

_"Yeah, it's not as substantial as a dirty Columbo coat, but I'm sure you can still snuggle with it in your bed. And it can double as a night light when you get scared."_

_"Shut up, asshole." Though his brother's eyes were still rimmed with red, Sam thought he could see the beginnings of a smile. "We should find something more solid to put this in. We can't carry Castiel's grace like it's jam."_

_"Mmm, something magically reinforced?"_

_"We could ask Garth, see if he knows a witch who could hook us up."_

_"Yeah, we could. It'd have to be someone really trustworthy though, or else everyone on this planet will try to steal it. Oh, I gotta call Kevin and tell him that we finally boarded up the gates of hell…"_

"Are you sure you want to go alone?" Sam asked for the third time.

They rarely saw the opportunity for lengthy goodbyes, since they usually went from one crisis to another, but now that they were parting ways the whole thing was awkward and difficult.

"Sam, I told you. The world is saved, and this time it might stay safe for a while. We should do what we really want to do, you know? Be a little bit selfish for once in our goddamn lives. And what _I_ want to do is get Cas. What _you_ wanna do is go to school or save dogs or whatever."

There was no resentment in Dean's mocking tone. Only fondness.

Sam smiled. "I just don't want you to make God angry. Without me to hold you back, He'll get annoyed at your jerkass attitude."

"I don't need God to like me. I just need to get Cas outta there as soon as possible."

Sam's smile faded. "Yeah, I know."

Dean wrapped his brother into a hug, easy and sure. "I'll see you around, Sammy."

"Yeah. Call me if you need my help. And good luck."

"You too."

And then Dean climbed into his Baby, waved one last time, and disappeared into the wide stretch of road. Looking for God. This time, He might even be found. If they were lucky, He would be in the mood to pluck a fallen angel out of the pit.

Sam shook his head. Their lives could get pretty weird.

But Sam didn't dwell on the bittersweetness of goodbye for too long. After all, he had a new life to start.


End file.
